


The Jewelled Serpents

by silmarienmiriel



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-16
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2018-12-30 09:35:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 20,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12105834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silmarienmiriel/pseuds/silmarienmiriel
Summary: Dorne is in crisis - as far as anyone in Westeros knows, the Martell line died when Doran and his son were assassinated.However, not every Sand Snake believes the same things Ellaria does. Nor is the Martell line truly dead.After all, what is dead may rise again....





	1. The Sphinx Is The Riddle

**Author's Note:**

> So, like many fans of GOT and ASOIAF, I was very very excited to see Dorne in all its glory and very let down when the show butchered it. Arianne Martell is one of my favourite characters in the series and I was heartbroken she didnt appear. 
> 
> So...I decided to fix the Dorne storyline. Or, at least try and give it some form of meaning. 
> 
> The story starts in Season 6 with the death of Doran Martell and introduces characters that were either changed for the show or not added. I've tried to follow the series in many ways but I've also altered or omitted parts to make this story work.
> 
> Also....SPOILERS FOR SEASON 7!

~Chapter 1~

Alleras had thought for a while that things seemed to be heading for the worse. The ‘Sphinx,” as the lazy Leo Tyrell had dubbed the half-Dornish student, had been sensing for weeks that dark clouds were gathering over the horizon. News from Dorne had been tense and less forthcoming then they used to be, nor had any answer been given when pressed. The first blow had been many weeks prior; a raven in the night from Sunspear carrying the news that father was dead, struck down in the prime of his life. Alleras still could see the imposing face in dreams; the sharp nose and onyx eyes, black hair, the widows peak and pointed chin. Features that appeared in all the children one way or another. Alleras had been teased for them by the other students ever since arrival, the lack of a hostile response [merely that infuriatingly knowing smile] only adding to the mystique of where exactly this acolyte had come from.

Still, Alleras had not seen the man for many months, maybe even years. Too busy forging links on the chain to think much about Dorne and about their home, although both were deeply missed. Sometimes, laying in bed at night, memories of the vast deserts would come unbidden but they had intruded less and less lately. Alleras had mourned the death, yes, but the world had continued and so did the training at the Citadel. Links to be forged and news from home to worry privately about had been the normal state of the ‘Sphinx’s’ life; a bizarre state of normalcy.

Until today.

The storm clouds Alleras had predicted had finally erupted, in a single raven, sent to Archmaester Marwyn in the early hours of the morning. The elder man had sent a servant for the Dornish acolyte, the boy shaking the dark-skinned student by the shoulder in the rooms he shared with other students.

Onyx eyes opened groggily into slits, the candle hurting for a few seconds. “What is it?”

“Master Marwyn received a raven, you must come,” the boy explained.

Sitting up and pulling on robes, Alleras followed after the servant, his thin legs striding across the tiles and paved streets as they wove through empty doorways and alleys. Crossing a great courtyard, they wove through silent halls until the servant stopped at a door and opened it, bowing to his master before Alleras entered. “You called, Maester?” the worried student asked, studying the form of Marywn as he twisted a piece of parchment between his fingers nervously.

Holding it up, he tilted it in his general direction. “Dorne…letter…grave news…” he muttered distractedly.

“Yes. You called for me,” Alleras repeated blandly, as if talking to a small child. “May I read the message?”

The older man blinked, as if only just registering the second presence in the room for the first time. “Oh. Alleras, of course. The message concerns you, from Sunspear. Terrible news.” He offered the unrolled parchment piece in his hands.

Approaching and tasking it from the weathered hands, Alleras unfurled it and read the words, written in flowing script that belied a womans hand. It took everything to remember to not drop the mask of neutrality that often graced the face of the Sphinx as quick eyes flicked over the words, the only telltale sign of distress a slight trembling in the hands grasping the letter. Over and over again was the message reread, before it was rolled up and pocketed.

“May I go, maester?” the tone was still calm, soft and a little husky like it always was.

Marwyn waved a hand distractedly, too preoccupied now in reading more dispatches. Bowing politely and backing out of the room before turning, strong legs strided down the Citadel halls until they reached a courtyard that boasted a fountain in its centre and benches to contemplate the water. Sinking down on one of them, Alleras unfurled the ravens letter after a quick look around to make sure nobody was watching.

“Prince Doran Martell and his heir, Trystane, are dead,” the letter read. “Ellaria of House Uller, paramour of the late Prince Oberyn Martell, has murdered the royal family and seized the throne and Sunspear. ”

Staring at the words on the page, the Sphinxs mind worked frantically as the words slowly penetrated through the haze of disbelief. Always a quick thinker, even when under stress, black eyes flashed with realisation that Dorne was a powder keg. While those in the Citadel did not leave until they had forged their maesters chain in full and many preferred to spend their days mulling over books and parchment, news from the Seven Kingdoms and beyond passed always here. It would be common knowledge soon and so, any action would have to be quick and sudden.

Getting up and pacing the courtyard as the water splashed and tinkled merrily in the fountain, the parchment piece crumpled between long fingers as Alleras paced from side to side. As the first rays of sunrise started to appear in the far off distance, a sudden thought came like a bolt of lightning. If Prince Doran was dead then Trystane would be the heir to Dorne, but he was also dead. There was only one person left who could take back the throne for the Martell line, who had the right to rule and they were many leagues from here.

Making a decision, Alleras strode out of the courtyard and through the Citadel with a purpose.  The parchment bearing the news was tucked away in a pocket as the slim, strong body of the Dornish acolyte almost ran back to their quarters. Opening the door stealthily so as not to wake the others, the lone candle lighting the room quivered and sent shadows up. Using the weak light to pack every last item into a bag, Alleras gingerly took the chain off and placed it at the top of the bag then sealed it and exited as quietly as they had entered. Pausing to remember their faces, the Sphinx turned and strode down through the stairs and threaded through byways and alleys until the Citadel became Oldtown. Heading towards the city stables and seeking the stall of a great black stallion that had been a parting gift from father, Alleras held a finger to dark lips as the stallion began to whinny as it sensed the familiar scent of its owner. Shushing it, rubbing his nose lovingly, it didn’t take long to saddle the horse. Leading it out into the streets, Alleras mounted and gave a gentle kick until the horse started to trot. Purposefully keeping it no more than a light canter until they exited the Oldtown gates, the cloaked figure kept the calm pace until the city was out of sight then gave a scream of encouragement and the horse broke out into its full galloping stride.

Freedom at last, to be ones true self.

Alleras the Sphinx was no more.

Sarella Sand, fourth daughter of Oberyn Martell, had come back from the dead.


	2. The Journey is Homewards

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thankyou for the lovely comments on my first chapter!
> 
> I tried to research distances when creating this chapter, based on what I could find about the geography plus horse speeds and raven speeds, so I hope it makes sense.
> 
> Also, apologies for the lack of action, most of this chapter is trying to get Sarella and Arianne together in the same place. I'll try to explain more background in the next chapter.

~Chapter 2~

  
Oberyn Martell had been many things: lover, student of the Citadel, mercenary, traveller, intriguer, the list goes on. But first and foremost he had been a man who valued family. Even though he had fathered eight girls by five different women ranging in distance from the Summer Islands to Oldtown, he had loved them all with the same passion that had driven him to seek the revenge that would get him killed. Oberyn had been well-loved by the Dornish, mostly anyway. Certainly by the common folk. He had acknowledged all his children, brought them up amongst their cousins and accorded them every legal right he could feasibly get away with. He took active charge of their education, ensuring that every one of his eight daughters would receive not just a scholarly education but a practical one. While this included weaponry, what counted most in this situation was an education about horses.

Sarella followed that teaching now, forcing her stallion to alternate between full gallop, slow canter and trot. It was a long distance between Oldtown and the borders of Dorne and while she wasn’t seeking Sunspear, their capital, she still needed to preserve the strength of both her and her loved horse. Time was of paramount importance but it was also against them and no forcing a tired horse to push beyond its limits would stop time, so she allowed it rest and time to eat. She just prayed that the swiftness of the raven message coupled with the probable upheaval in Sunspear would give her enough time to get there before Ellaria sent out armed forces.

Laying down and studying the night sky while her horse grazed happily, she reflected on her relationship with her fathers lover. While she had always wished her father happiness and loved the sisters that came from the union between Ellaria and Oberyn, there had always been a marked coolness between her and her ‘step-mother’. Sarella had never quite gotten along with the woman, though she had never really cared enough to get into an argument with her like Nymeria or throw something at her like she remembered Obara doing as a child. She’d always been more focused on exploring or sticking her head in a book, deciphering what the world meant. There had been no competition between the two for her fathers love and besides, Sarella had her own mother around enough to soothe any maternal anguish. Her mother traded often with Dorne and would send word for Sarella to come meet her at one of the port cities as she bargained her goods, content to see only her daughter and not her former lover.

Sighing and getting up, she stretched her tired joints and wickered to her horse. Stroking his nose lovingly and whispering in the Dornish tongue to him, she swung herself up and let him guide the road at a gentle trot. The journey took almost a week after that but soon she was skirting the infamous Tower of Joy and full galloping the last stretch, intent only on getting there in time. Throwing caution to the wind, she urged her horse on as fast as he could go as the mountains began to give way to the first signs of the deserts and the small roads she had been weaving across became part of the Princes Pass. Red dirt sprayed up as hooves clattered along the path, stones flying every so often as the horse skidded off the Princes Pass about five miles later and headed into the great red mountains.

The going was slower here, Sarella carefully guiding her horse up a little-travelled path and keeping the reins tight. She knew that one false step on this path could send both her and her mount to their deaths and she was close, so close. The fact that it was the middle of the night didn’t help, the only light to guide her the full moon above. Choosing the slow and steady speed rather than a more foolhardy gallop, she was eventually rewarded by the path levelling out again and the view below revealing that they had swept around and behind Kingsgrave, the great ancestral seat of one of Dorne’s Lordly houses, House Manwoody. The crowned skull on their banners had always seemed a little…macabre to her but she didn’t care right now. For sitting in the great home right now was the object of her seeking: the last Martell.

The last few miles felt like she was flying and soon she was swinging off her tired stallion and guiding him through the gates of a great house and grounds built into the mountain behind them. Letting the horse drop his head and rest, she swept up the front stairs like they didn’t even exist and hammered on the shut door, yelling at the top of her lungs. She didn’t care that the moon was still full in the sky and everyone would be asleep. She needed to see her, needed to know that her cousin was safe. Hammering with her fists, she didn’t stop until the doors opened and a half-asleep servant poked his head out.

Pushing past him, heedless of his protestations, Sarella entered the house.

“Arianne!” she yelled as loud as she could. “Arianne!”  
  
The servant tried to shush her, trying to restrain this madman lest they wake everyone. “My Lady, everyone is asleep. You cant - “

“Unhand me!” Sarella snapped as she shook his hand away. “I need to see her. I need to know she’s okay!”

“My lady-“ the servant protested.  
  
“No, you don’t understand!” she faced him, hands on her hips and fire in her glare. “Sunspear fell and soon Kingsgrave will too! I need to see my cousin! Now!”

Looking around frantically, the servant was about to protest again when a sleepy voice came from up above both of them. “Willam, why is everybody yelling?”

Sarella’s head snapped up, the servant forgotten the moment she set eyes on the form of a woman with a light brown complexion, her long black hair spilling around her clothing and falling down to her hips, standing at the top of the stairs. Letting out a cry of joy, she ran up the stairs and wrapped the girl in her arms. Hugging her tight enough to cause the girl to gasp, Sarella let the emotions she had blocked out since the raven message had arrived escape in a torrent of tears. Sobbing wordlessly, she clung to the younger girl, refusing to let her go until she had cried herself out.

Sniffing slightly, she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and blurted out what she had feared since the raven had come. “You’re safe! Thank the Seven and Mother Rhoyne! I was so worried that what happened in the Capital would happen here! Ellaria Sand killed our family, the family she was part of! I feared you were dead!”

“I know…”Arianne spoke softly. Looking at her now properly, Sarella could see the dark marks under her eyes and the red rimmed eyelids, the tiredness and sadness evident in those dark eyes.

Taking the smaller hand, Sarella raised it to her lips and kissed it familiarly. “I am so sorry about Uncle Doran and Trystane, Aria….” She spoke, using the old childhood nickname

“Thankyou, ‘Ella…” Arianne returned then sighed as she brushed her hair out of her face.

Dropping the hand and wrapping an arm around her cousins shoulder, the two of them slowly made their way deeper into the dwellings. Curling up in Arianne’s large bed, Sarella rested her head on her cousins shoulder as they intertwined their fingers together and pressed their bodies against each other for comfort. Sarella was too tired to even take off her travelling clothes as sleep overtook both of them, secure enough now that they were both together.


	3. Future Planning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Exposition time!
> 
> So, I worked out a way to fit Arianne in with how the show stated the Martell family worked, while also trying to stay true to the books. 
> 
> In ASOIAF, Arianne is almost inseparable from Tyene Sand but in the show there's no indication that little close relationship exists between Sand Snakes and the legitimate Martells so I transferred that deeply close relationship to Sarella. I thought it made sense. 
> 
> Also, in the lore of ASOIAF Dorne allows the oldest child to succeed [Arianne in the books] but Trystane is mentioned in the show as being the only son. It never says anything about daughters, so I made Arianne Trystane's twin [younger by 5 minutes] so it could work out. 
> 
> I also used the ASOIAF background for Doran's wife, Mellario of Norvos, as canon for my story. More of that will come into the story later. 
> 
> Also, I wanted a 'happy' chapter to break up the darkness because we all know just how dark GRRM can be...

~Chapter 3~

Chapter 3:

The first sensation that awoke Sarella was that she was cold, her body stretching instinctively for the warmth she remembered as her eyes slowly opened and blinked a few times. Rising slightly on her shoulder, she looked around and found the bed empty, no sign of her cousin to be seen. Yawning lazily, she lay back against the soft silky sheets and stared up at the ceiling as she tried to remember past the fuzziness. It didn’t take long for her memories to reorientate themselves: she was in Dorne and she was here to protect her cousin.

“Arianne!” she gasped and sat up quickly, the motion causing her head to spin. Pulling the sheets off her, she darted out of bed and was halfway to the door when it opened and she collided face first with Arianne. Letting out a scream in surprise, she rubbed her face where Sarella had collided with her, then burst out laughing.

“Cousin, let us not do that again…” Arianne giggled.

Rubbing her head, Sarella grinned ruefully. “I am sorry, Your Highness.”

The use of the term of address used for their ruling prince or princess made the smile falter, then slide off Arianne’s lips. Her face became solemn and the kohled eyes dimmed a little, before she put on a brave face and smiled tightly. “I’m never going to get used to that…” she spoke wistfully. “Not for a while, at least. Why, Sarella?”

Sarella didn’t trust herself to answer, instead choosing to look down at her clothes and grimace at their state. The constant riding over many days had ruined the Acolyte clothing she still wore; the trousers were rubbed raw in places and everything was spattered in copious amounts of red dust and mud from the many back roads she had taken to get here quicker than the ‘official’ routes. “I think I might need new clothes,” she changed the subject.

“And here I thought you loved to look like a man,” Arianne teased, the sadness apparently forgotten. “After all, you hopped into my bed without even taking off your boots. If that’s not an indication of your love of the mans life then I don’t know what is.”

Sarella snickered. “Oh, really, dear cousin. And who, on her brothers ninth nameday, snuck out into Sunspear dressed in her brothers clothes and tried to scale a roof?”

“Why, I cant recall,” Arianne retorted playfully and crossed her eyes at her companion. Sarella crossed them right back, then picked up a pillow and threw it right in her face without warning. The room descended into stunned silence as the pillow landed on the ground, before both of them burst into raucous laughter. Breathless with laughter, both of them fell onto the bed and lay there giggling helplessly for a long time. It felt good to laugh again, Sarella decided.

Rolling over onto her side after a while, she studied the younger girl. While Sarella was coloured almost the same as the black granite statues you could see in Essos temples, Arianne’s skin was the colour of ripe olives. Her dark brown hair fell in natural curls to her eternal hatred, always having wanted the straighter hair of her brother. She looked older than her eighteen years, her curvaceous and well-endowed body giving the impression of a woman fully grown in her mid twenties.

“Will you have to go to Sunspear?” Arianne broke the heavy silence after a while.

Sarella frowned slightly. “Maybe. Would you be affronted, leaving you so soon?”

Arianne shrugged.

Sitting up, Sarella sighed and ran her fingers through her close-cropped curls angrily. “Look, you and I both know that Ellaria usurped your birthright. Here, on the borders, its all well and good to hide out or to use our isolation from the capital to escape to the rest of the seven kingdoms. Maybe we will have to consider leaving here if things get too dangerous; after all, Dornish travellers aren’t that uncommon to see passing through the Riverlands or the Reach. But I don’t want to flee, Arianne! There always has to be a Martell on the throne, we both know that. By the Rhoyne, everyone in Dorne knows that.”

“What are you saying?” Arianne asked, sitting up.

“I say,” Sarella spoke softly and slowly, to avoid anyone passing from overhearing, “that we take back your throne. But we cant do that from here, not without having a way of hearing what is happening in Sunspear or the Water Gardens. There are spies everywhere, cousin, and not just from the paranoid Westerosi outside of our country.”

She reached into her clothing and pulled out the scrap of parchment, offering it to the girl.

“This is how I knew to come and find you, someone sent me it from Dorne. I don’t know if it was a trap to get me out of Oldtown but somebody knows what happened and people probably already know that I forsook the Citadel, that I fled in the dead of night here. Ellaria would have spies by now, reporting on everything that goes on. We need our own network and I cant do it from here, so yes, I’ll need to go.”

Reading the parchment, Arianne got up and began to pace. Crushing it in her small hand as she travelled the same small path over and over, Sarella watched her think and pace, before the woman turned and startled the older woman with her expression. The expression was one she had often seen on Arianne’s father, Prince Doran, when he had decided something. Her features were stern and hard, the softness replaced by a granite mask, her eyes sparking with intrigue and emotion as her lips curved into a hard smile.

Throwing the crumpled parchment to the floor, she spoke decisively, her voice hard both in its speech and tone. ”Go, Sarella. Go to Sunspear and appear as if there would be nothing more you would love to do than swear obedience to the Sand woman. Your sisters will welcome you back with open arms and maybe you can help to govern, to safeguard the common folk and their wellbeing. But, work for me behind the scenes. Create the network we need, converse with the great houses of our land and woo them to our side. Many of them will be on our side in the first place, for they loved my father. Then, when it is time, we will take back what is ours. My father and brother will be avenged and Dorne will have a Martell on its throne as all should be.”

Staring at her, Sarella nodded mutely, almost seeing Doran standing in front of her as if the man was still alive. His daughter would have made him proud. Slowly, Arianne’s hard expression softened and she smiled shyly, brushing a strand of ringlets behind her ears, a nervous habit she had had since early childhood. “You should get changed, Sarella,” she pointed out and swept out of the room without another word.

As the door closed behind her, Sarella unashamedly set about stripping every last stitch of clothing from her body. At the Citadel she had had to be very careful for fear of revealing to anyone nearby that she was a girl, choosing to bathe in private and change in empty bedrooms. Now, she could embrace her body in its natural state as much as she wanted to without any shame attached. Walking around naked in the room, the warm air of Dorne running over her body, Sarella took her time getting ready and chose a dress from her cousins closet that showed off her slimmer shaped body. The neckline dipped dangerously close to her navel but she didn’t care, just enjoying the silky feel of the fabric on her body. It felt….different, though, to wear female clothing.

Exiting the room, she sought her cousin in the gardens and found her bent over in conversation with one of Lord Manwoodys servants, discussing what to serve for the evening feast. Standing by an ornamental vase on a pedestal filled with a small evergreen tree, she watched Arianne’s animated hands wave back and forth with energy. She was suddenly filled with a sense of intense pride in how the girl she had known since birth had developed into a woman that could sit on a throne and govern an entire land. Dorne valued its women and was the only part of the Seven Kingdoms who practise equal primogeniture, where the oldest child [regardless of gender] would inherit. It was sad that just five minutes had robbed Arianne of this, for Trystane had been her older twin and therefore the one who would have ruled , had he lived. Making a sign out of respect for the dead, Sarella shook those thoughts away and crept up on her cousin as the servant bowed and departed to the kitchens.

“So how is the feast shaping?” she asked, wrapping her arms around Arianne’s waist.

Giggling, Arianne pushed them away and turned. “A feast to greet the evening goes well,” she remarked. “Mother would be proud of my abilities to throw a feast.”

Sarella smirked. Mellario, Lady of Norvos, had been well-known for caring for only three things during her time as Princess of Dorne: her children, letting the Dornish know that she thought them uncivilised and uncouth when compared to her home land and throwing ostentatious displays of wealth and power. It had been a relief for all when the foreign-born woman had departed back home to Norvos in disgust, leaving her children behind to be raised by their father. Arianne had, thankfully, inherited her mothers short stature and flair for the aesthetic but not her less agreeable traits. She loved her country and people as much as Mellario had loathed them.

“At least you’re fatter than your mother,” she teased. “That dress is starting to strain at the seams, cousin.”

Darting off before Arianne could think of a retort, Sarella laughed as she could hear an explosion of indignation behind her. The two cousins spent the rest of the day chasing each other, playing gameds and enjoying the hedonistic pleasures of good food, good company and beautiful surroundings. Like they used to when they were younger, before the shadow of death had started stalking their house. They wilfully ignored what would come the next day, choosing instead of focusing on spending time together in happiness. There would be time enough to mourn again or to fight but today, today was for the calm before the storm.

Tired out as night fell, the two cousins curled up together again in the same bed, like they had done many times before. Before letting sleep fall, Sarella wrapped her arms around Arianne’s waist a little tighter and murmured sleepily in her ear. “Tomorrow I have to leave…”

“I know…” Arianne murmured back, eyes closed. “I will miss you, cousin.”  
  
Sarella yawned once, before she murmured back “and I you…”


	4. Venomous Siblings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Intrigue!
> 
> I used the book ages for the 4 youngest Sand Snakes, although the show doesnt introduce any except a brief mention of Elia Sand as being wilful. 
> 
> Also, if the story Sarella was telling seemed familiar its my own take on the theory that underneath The Wall is a great dragon, framed as a story found somewhere written down.
> 
> Finally, it felt so good to write Sarella screaming at Tyene. I used a line from the show in it ['In Dorne, we dont hurt little girls" - Oberyn to Cersei]. Basically, Sarella was me screaming at the show on my monitor.

~ Chapter 4 ~

The next day, Sarella took leave of her cousin and began the long trip to Sunspear. However, instead of trying to reach the capital anonymously, she sent advance notice to every lordly dwelling and ancestral family seat that Sarella Sand, Lady of Dorne would be travelling to Sunspear fresh from the Citadel and sought their assistance to aid her in her journey. By using the flair for the dramatic that her father liked to use, she knew that putting on a grand display would distract anyone from looking too closely or asking too many questions. Everyone’s attention would be drawn to her and therefore, away from Arianne. Instead of riding at full speed, she allowed her horse to meander at its own pace, as if simply on a tour of progress.

During her trip to Sunspear she visited the great cities such as Yronwood, Godsgrace and Lemonwood before swinging north to finally arrive in Sunspear. It was late morning as her stallion entered the great capital city of Dorne, picking around large city quarters of merchants and homes as she made her way to the great ancestral home of House Martell, the ruling palace. Unlike Highgarden or Kings Landing, the palace of Dorne was spread out rather than built up and sprawled along for miles if you included the vast gardens and servants quarters. Dismounting, Sarella stuck out her chin and proceeded straight through the front door. She ignored the servants rushing to greet her, brushing them away with the haughtiness of one born to a great house and pressing onto the more intimate family quarters.

The choice of seeking her half-sisters instead of going straight to greet the ruler was a calculated affront to Ellaria. Sarella knew full well that she was insulting the woman and she knew Ellaria would know it too, but she really didn’t care. Let the woman send guards to escort her, let her rail and curse the disrespect, the slight Sarella had thrown in her face. In fact, Sarella wanted her to do just that and something told her that the hot-headed ‘ruler’ would do exactly as she had planned. After all, nobody could ever accuse the Sand Snakes of not being blessed with their fathers brains and a love of intrigue [although some less than others]. Pushing the doors to the zenana [the family living quarters] open, Sarella stood in the doorway and took in the familiar scents of home. After so long away, the mingled scents of lemon, persimmon, blood oranges and spices was almost orgasmic to her. She hadn’t quite realised until then just how much she had missed the rich, warm aromas of her old life.

Closing her eyes, she breathed it in deeply and then forced herself to step over the threshold. Hoping that her sisters weren’t at the Water Gardens, she was rewarded up ahead with the traditional sounds of the Sand Snakes: passionate arguing. Grinning at the shouting up ahead, she crept silently through the halls until she came out into one of the many gardens and stood in the doorway watching the scene in front of her. A large smile sat on her face as she watched her four younger sisters.

Elia, the oldest of the group at 14, named after their deceased aunt, was currently holding her middle sister Obella, 12, in a headlock as she tried to use her other hand to rip at a book the younger girl was waving wildly in the air. Dorea, the third youngest at 8, was ignoring both of her older sisters as she spun a story for the youngest of the eight Sand Snakes, Loreza, who, at age 6, was still able to stare wide eyed and innocent up at her older sister.

“So…” Sarella drawled from her position leaning against the doorway, “I go away to the Citadel with a scene exactly like this and when I come back, nothing has changed. Did none of my little sisters miss me enough to behave?”

Elia spun around, letting go of Obella as she stared wide-mouthed at her older sister. The next thing she knew, Sarella was on the ground under four squealing bodies as she tried to hug all of them in turn. Laughing until her sides hurt, she eventually flipped Loreza off her stomach where she had been bouncing and rolled over onto her back. Kissing all four of them in turn, she pulled herself off the ground and allowed the girls to lead her by the hand through the gardens, trying to answer every question thrown at her.

“No, Dorea, the Citadel doesn’t have blood orange trees, its too cold there.”

“Obella, of course I didn’t see dragon skulls, that’s at Kings Landing…no, theyre not next to each other.”

“Elia, really, you’re still obsessed with handsome men at your age?”

“Loreza, I have more new stories than you’ve had persimmons, I promise I’ll tell you them all.”

Yanking at Sarella’s hand, Loreza spoke. “Sara, tell me a story now!”

Giving a comical roll of her eyes, Sarella shook her head and let out a deep sigh as if she was forced to do so and sat on one of the grassy areas, her sisters clustered around her. Elia sat next to her, being ‘too old’ to sit on her sisters lap but the rest clambered onto her lap and hung off her shoulders. Clearing her throat, Sarella took on a conspiratorial tone and began.

“The Citadel has more books then there are fruits in Dorne, and all those books are heavily guarded. But, one of those tales tell of a great dragon that lived up in the horrible, cold North where wolves roam the lands and take human form. Even now, they say the Starks can take on the form of their house sigil, a great direwolf, at times of great need. These direwolves are even bigger than the wolf our great, great, many greats uncle shot and stuffed when dragons roamed Westeros.”

She ruffled Dorea’s hair as she stated that. “But a very very long time ago, when Queen Nymeria ruled our land and we worshipped only Mother Royne, there was a great dragon. They said that its scales were silver and white, that its eyes were the palest blue you could ever imagine and that it stared right through you. Many men tried to kill the Dragon: Rhoynar, First Men, the Andals, even the Children of the Forest that the Northmen claim existed. For the dragon was powerful; his length was further than the entire harem and his height reached into the clouds [she indicated the dimensions with her hands] and he didn’t breathe gold fire but blue fire. He lived alone because the other dragons lived far away, in the southern areas.”

She paused for dramatic effect, four pairs of eyes wide as saucers, even Elia’s despite her age.

“But one day, the book says, there came a great man. He bought an army with him to slay the dragon; an army from all the corners of Essos. Volantis, Norvos where aunt Mellario lives, even all the way from the shadow lands and of course…great Valyria. It was still there, it had not yet fallen but beautiful as ever. He took this army and he marched all the way to the Northern part of Westeros, to find the dragon. Now, my jewelled snakes, dragons back then could talk in the tongues of men and so what the dragon did was he met with this great man and they fought, not with spears and lances and swords but with words. For the great dragon and the great man warred for days with their tongues; the mans pink and plump, the dragons scaly and forked.”

“But what happened?” Obella asked, her mouth open slightly.

Sarella smiled indulgently and continued “When words did not slay the dragon, the man retreated. The dragon had wished him to take his men and leave but the man was as stubborn as his foe was; so he gave the word to attack. As the army charged across the icy lands…”

Her voice stopped as a man cleared his throat and she looked up, glaring at the intruder into their story, a guard dressed in the livery of Dorne. “Apologies, My Lady, but the Regent Ellaria requests that you attend her now.”

“I am spending time with my sisters,” Sarella replied hotly. “You will step back and wait until I am finished.”

“I am sorry, Lady Sarella but she insists,” the guard pressed her, a look of awkwardness and slight apology on his face.

Bending down to kiss each of the girls, Sarella disentangled herself amid groans and pleas to stay and continue the story. “I am sorry, little snakes,” she murmured. “Your mother wants me to say hello but I promise I’ll continue the story soon. Be good and Elia, don’t lock your sister in a headlock again for pity sake, you’re fourteen summers.”

Waving goodbye, she turned and then stalked out of the gardens at a fast walk, without even considering if the guard was following. She paid no heed to his steps as he raced after her, walking with her head held high as if she wanted to go there and had chosen out of her own free will. After all, she was a Martell by blood and nobody summoned her like she was a servant, even if she didn’t bear the name Martell. Making her way through the palace she knew off by heart, Sarella eventually stopped by the doors to the great audience hall of the Martells and threw her head back.

“Well?” she snapped at the guards. “Let me in.”

Nodding silently, they swung the doors open and Sarella steeled herself then swept inside as the doors closed behind her. Walking at a leisurely pace towards the audience throne, she came to a stop and threw her onyx black eyes around to take in the four women standing there facing her. Ellaria Sand, the murderer of Doran Martell, sat in the throne tapping her ornately done nails on the armrests with an angry expression on her face. Next to her stood short-haired Tyene the eldest of Ellaria and Oberyns daughters, with the always beautiful Nymeria and the swarthy, broad-shouldered Obara occupying lesser positions behind the chair. Sarella smiled at that, knowing that Obara regarded Ellaria with little more than coolness and would be chafing in her new role of governing. After all, Obara Nymeria and Sarella were evidence to the woman sitting on the throne that her beloved Oberyn Martell had been unfaithful to her multiple times.

“You summoned me, Lady Ellaria?” Sarella drawled, the tone the same one she had used constantly in the Citadel. It was respectful, sure, but always held a note of sardonic enjoyment, like the ‘Sphinx’ knew something they didn’t.

Ellaria leaned forwards, her nails ceasing to tap. “How dare you come here and not greet me, your ruler?” she snapped angrily. “How dare you show me such disrespect?”

Sarella simply let her smile widen. “I was not aware that I was addressing my ruler…” she lazily replied. “As to my whereabouts, I was where I should be. With my family…” she left that last word hang there, subtly indicating that she didn’t include Ellaria in that group.

“Oh, and before you try to stab me with those fancy blades Father gave you on your 12th name day, Tyene,” she continued, spying the tightening of her sisters hands around her dagger hilts with her sharp eyes, “how many times have you visited our sisters since you killed our uncle and cousin, hmm? Why aren’t they at the Water Gardens, enjoying their childhood with the other children of Dorne instead of cooped up here with only themselves to entertain?”

Tyene glared at her. “Its not safe for them!”

“Not safe?” Sarella crossed the floor and stuck her face right into Tyene’s face, ignoring Ellaria. “You think the people of Dorne would harm four innocent children? Are you that ignorant of our people, sister? Oh, that’s right…why wouldn’t they? After all, that’s what you and your mother did to our cousins’ betrothed, isn’t it?”

Tyene spluttered as Nymeria smirked and lounged on the throne. “How dare you, coming back so sanctimonious and so ignorant,” she snapped back, shoving Sarella away from her. “You don’t know what it was like here, you weren’t here, sister dear! We had to do what we had to do!”

Sarella studied her, then brought back her hand and slapped Tyene straight across the face, her slim palm connecting with the meatiest part of her face. “What you HAD to do?!” she yelled at the top of her lungs, as Ellaria gave a cry of outrage and yelled for the guards. “What you had to do?! An innocent girl living here under our roof and you poison her?! Our cousin loved her and if you, in your paranoid delusions, had stopped to think of his feelings and the politics behind what you planned to do, our word would not be mud in the Seven Kingdoms! You think I don’t hear things, Tyene? I heard everything!”  
  
She breathed in deeply and slapped her again. “Our father would be rolling in his grave now! News comes to the Citadel from everywhere! You poison a child because your paranoid, irrational, grief-crazed mother,” she pointed at Ellaria,” wants to get revenge for something that was our fathers fault! He chose to go into that ring, he chose to fight! We don’t harm children in Dorne! And just so you know, sister dearest, Oberyn Martell, our great father, was an idiot! Now we are at war with the rest of the Seven Kingdoms and without a legitimate ruler! What happens to our family now, huh? Can you answer that? How will Dorne continue to have a Nymeros Martell on the throne? You ended hundreds of years of unbroken Dornish rule with a stupid, stupid murder! Every single of our ancestors will drag you down to hell for what you did! How could you all be so very stupid?!”

As both of the women seethed at each other, Obara had strode across the hall and waved the guards away. Standing at the door, she didn’t say anything, like usual. Obara wasn’t much for talking.

Nymeria eventually intruded, her calm voice snapping them out as Tyene sought sanctuary in her mothers arms and Sarella seethed, itching to hit her again. “Now you two have stopped pulling each others hair and screaming angry words,” she snickered, “what would you suggest, little sister?”

“Dorne has never been conquered,“ Obara finally spoke. “We all know that.”

Sarella nodded at her over her shoulder. “Cersei Lannister will want to make us pay for killing her daughter and the Lords of Dorne probably hate all of you, not that I blame them at all. We need to work on gaining their trust but they wont want to deal with any of you.”  
  
“So you want to run the government then?” Ellaria sneered.

Sarella shrugged. “No, not really. Although I could do a better job than any of you could. You need to court the Lords and Ladies that make up our country. Not with fire or punishment or cruelty but with honest words. Make them understand that what we have now is better then defecting to the Lannisters. If we lose even one of the noble houses then we can kiss this land goodbye.”

Silence descended on the throne room, Tyene’s sniffing the only noise in the room for a while. Finally, Ellaria spoke again. “There is still the question of succession.”

“Quentyn is long dead,“ Nymeria supplied.

Sarella shrugged. “We know that, Nym. That’s not helpful.”

“Well then who?” she snapped back. “Who does the all-knowing Sarella suggest then?”

This was the chance she had been waiting for. That knowing smile spread over her lips again as she rolled back on her heels, letting her body language reflect that she was completely relaxed. “Why, the only person you seemed to forget about in your sudden blood lust - our cousin.”

“But Trystane is dead…” Tyene snapped, the marks still on her face from Sarella’s hand.

“You mean Arianne?” Nymeria laughed as Sarella rolled her eyes at Tyene.

She clicked her tongue impatiently. “Of course I mean Arianne, who else did you think?! How did you three, who have lived in this great palace all your lives, forget her? We only, I don’t know, grew up with her as our companion?”

“Doran sent her away.”

“To govern and learn, yes,” Sarella sighed dramatically. “After all, a Martell princess is a catch for any one of the heirs to great Dornish houses. Fostering his only daughter made sense, especially if our uncle had planned to marry her to that heir. But, now that you murdered her family, I doubt she would consent to live under your rule and govern as your puppet. We Martells are a proud family after all.”

Her black eyes watched as the four usurpers exchanged glances; after all, the Dornish were renowned for holding deep grudges and blood feuds. Just look at the death of their aunt Elia.

“So,” Sarella went on before any of them could interrupt, “my suggestion is this. Leave our cousin alone, let her govern in peace. Designate her your heir, Lady Ellaria, and when the time is come to produce heirs to the throne she will be able to continue the line. I am sure she will come to see reason and maybe even accept that it was for the good of the country, in time.”

Ellaria’s look of suspicion slowly drifted into wary thought, waving a hand at her. “I will consider it,” she spoke.

“Then I bid my leave, lady,” Sarella gave a curt bow then turned and strode off towards the main doors.

As she exited, a strong arm linked around her and Nymeria’s honeyed tones whispered in her ear. “I’ve been wanting to slap her for months, how come you got to do it?”

“Because you two are always fighting,” Sarella answered back easily. “She wouldn’t take it seriously if it came from you. Besides, my bow arm is stronger than your whip arm and we both know it.”

“Liar.”

Sarella grinned. “Come hear a story, Nym? I promised our sisters I’d finish the tale of the white dragon soon and they’d kill me if I didn’t follow through.”

Giggling, the two sauntered off as Obara watched them silently from the throne entrance, chewing her lip.

\---

It had been a long day, night having fallen when Sarella slipped out of her old rooms and made her way silently on bare feet to where the ravens were kept. Opening the door an inch, she woke one of the ravens and attached a message to its leg.

“Kingsgrave…” she whispered and carried the raven to the window overlooking the rest of the city. Opening it, she threw the raven out and watched it take flight, climbing higher into the sky before she lost it. Closing the window and padding back to her rooms, she laid down on her bed and smiled as she closed her eyes.

The message would be winging to Arianne by now, a simple phrase.

“Safe at Sunspear. Do not leave until I send word. The plan is underway.”


	5. Feasting and Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, because of a great comment from the lovely MsMitty asking for the death of Quentyn Martell I decided to add it in while furthering the story and showing what Arianne is doing [because there can never be too much Arianne]. 
> 
> I altered it a little from the source material, as Quentyn was a) older, b) younger than Arianne and c) died by burns sustained by trying to tame a freaking dragon to get Daenerys to marry him! Since he's never introduced or mentioned in the show, I wanted to fit in his death with the way the show did Dorne. 
> 
> So, similar death but also different. 
> 
> I also researched the present Heads of Dornish houses and their heirs, adding in a mix for Arianne's guests and trying to get a sense that the Dornish nobility aren't especially happy and -might- lend their support but you're not quite sure at this point.

~Chapter 5~

  
“My Lady Jynessa is most amusing in her stories,” Arianne laughed, leaning back in her seat as she took a large sip of her wine. “I wasn’t aware my uncle Oberyn had such a predilection for striped breeches.”

Sarella was still in Sunspear but that didn’t mean that Arianne was doing nothing waiting around to be summoned to take back her throne, no. Instead, she was courting those of the old Dornish houses that she suspected would be loyal when the time came to take her throne back. It was the sort of thing that Doran had taught his children to value, the ruling Prince preferring diplomacy and cunning to the more forceful way his brother acted. Ellaria had thought him weak because of his desire to think before he acted and to consider the implications for the future. Doran Nymeros Martell was far from weak, no. But he was not here anymore and so all she could do was what he had taught her.

So, she had ordered a number of great feasts and invited many of the heirs and rulers of Dorne’s houses to attend. If Ellaria took offence at that, Arianne merely wished to honour her fathers memory by holding a feast with his dearest liege Lords and Ladies. Smiling, she reached across the table for a handful of grapes and smiled at the lord next to her right, Lord Franklyn Fowler. While the Lady Jynessa Blackmont was the heir to her house, Franklyn was the head of his house, a very strategic player. Without the blessing of the Fowlers of Skyreach, the Princes Pass was closed to all traffic either into our out of Dorne’s borders to The Reach and the Riverlands.

“Now, my Lord Fowler,” she smiled widely. “As we all agree here, the tragic death of my father has cut us all deeply.”

Silver-flecked, the older lord nodded avidly. “Indeed, my Princess. We mourned him deeply when he heard the news, and the horrible manner in which he died. Lord Uller must be livid, to have produced such a daughter, even if she’s a bastard.”

“Ahh, but Sands are everywhere,” she gently chastised him, her dark lipped smile softening the rebuke. “My cousins share his blood, after all.”

“I meant no offence, Princess.”

She laughed. “There was no offence taken, Lord. I am sure you have one or two grains of sand in your desert, or anywhere down this table. We love it here,” she teased and the whole table laughed with her.

“Very well put,” Lord Trevor Jordayne of the Tor saluted her drunkenly then went back to his tenth goblet.

Letting the conversations around her drift on, Arianne stroked the rim of her goblet in a circular motion, thinking of which of the houses here would support her coup against her cousins. While they all were theoretically bound to House Martell, many of them were mighty houses of their own and she had to consider that some of them might want to rule Dorne through their own manipulations. If Ellaria were to lose command of the tenuous grip she had on the throne, one of the men and women gathered here could take over. Long lasting houses with long memories leading back to before the Martells gained the throne. Her maester had taught her that before the Martells ruled and married Queen Nymeria, there were kings and queens who had ruled their own little states; the descendants of which counted among some of her guests.

Rising spontaneously, she saluted the table with her goblet. “Long live the Martells and Dorne,” she called. All the guests raised theirs and returned the toast, drinking deep. Sitting back down, she smiled widely at them and then leaned forwards and began a conversation with Lady Sylva Santagar, a childhood friend and the heir to Spottwood. Around them, the candles lighting the outdoors feast slowly burned down and one by one, the guests either left for their own homes or were conducted to waiting rooms to spend a night by servants. Soon, only Arianne was left at the long feasting table.

Draining the last dregs of gold Dornish wine, she sighed and then tipped the goblet over. Watching the last few drops stain the tablecloth a yellow tinge as they dripped out, she pushed her chair aside and began to walk through the gardens as she thought of Sunspear. Her father and Trystane had been alive the last time she had seen them, although she had worried about her father on account of the gout he suffered; he slept little because of the pain and the duties of Dorne were heavy indeed. Trystane had been his usual cheerful self, showing off as he always did when he was around his family.

It wasn’t fair, by the Seven! Why had they taken her family?!

Running her fingers through her hair, she sighed deeply. If things had turned out differently, Trystane would not be a body buried in a crypt somewhere. It hadn’t even been his birthright to rule originally, or even hers. They had had an older brother, Quentyn, although she hadn’t thought about him for years. Thinking back on that name, a face came to her mind. The same olive skin as all Doran’s children, lighter eyes with a little blue from their maternal side, chubby cheeks in an angelic face and a ready smile. Tight black curls. Quentyn had been the eldest of the three children Mellario had birthed successfully, older by six summers. There had been other children but they had either died at birth or died in the womb, Arianne had vague memories of visiting their little graves as a toddler. Quentyn, however, had been healthy and precocious, a golden child. His parents adored him and doted on him, more than they had done so for the twins. After all, he was the heir and it had taken them so long to have him. But after his death, they never spoke of him again, save during their arguments and lovers spats. A cursed name full of memories.

Arianne had been old enough to remember his death, although the details had been kept from them until they were older. At the time she remembered that there had been heat and pain, then Quentyn had been taken away and never came back. She remembered the bewilderment, hurt, her parents tears and screams, her nurses panicked clinging but not much else. As she got older, more of the details had emerged. She, Trystane, Quentyn and her cousins had been playing in one of the old wings of the palace. It was made of old wood and silks and was almost entirely enclosed with little to no natural light, a reason it had been used for decades as part of the zenana. Quentyn and Tristane had been playing with their pet kittens while the girls were pretending to be traders and pirates like Sarella’s family. During their play, somebody had knocked over a candle and the flame had latched onto the nearest piece of wood. None of the children had noticed it at first, until Tyene had started to scream. As the rest of the children had started to scream as well, the fire was well underway by the time the servants had noticed and come running. In the chaos, Arianne’s nursemaid had grabbed her and Sarella and fled out into the gardens as more and more people came running to save the other children and fight the fire that was engulfing the residence.

In the confusion, Quentyn had wrenched free of the grip of his retainer and run back into the building to rescue his beloved kitten. By the time the family knew what had happened, the part of the zenana they had been playing in was fully alight. When they finally managed to get it under control and go in to find the child, he was severely burned and unconscious. He never woke up but died of his burns a few days later, his small face all but obscured by the weeping injuries. After that, her mother left Dorne forever and sailed back to Norvos, to mourn her beloved son and get away from the man she no longer loved. She blamed Doran for his death and for forcing himself to bury his grief deep down for the sake of his country and his people. She couldn’t forgive him for that, thinking him cold.

Banishing Quentyn from her mind, Arianne continued to walk the gardens as the first rays of the sun started to peek through the horizon. She hadn’t realised the time that had passed, too much on her mind. Maybe Quentyn would have made a better heir, she didn’t know, but that wasn’t important now. It was her responsibility to do what was right for her people and for her family and that was to rule. Focusing on the list of guests, she recited the names over and over again of those who would support her.

_**Wyl. Yronwood. Manwoody. Tolland. Vaith. Dalt. Santagar. Dayne. Allyrion. Blackmont. Fowler. Jordayne.** _

There were more whose loyalty she still had to test but she was certain of those houses support, having sworn to the Martells to always support them. Yawning silently, Arianne finally headed to her bed as she repeated the names a final time.

_**Wyl. Yronwood. Manwoody. Tolland. Vaith. Dalt. Santagar. Dayne. Allyrion. Blackmont. Fowler. Jordayne.** _

The next morning she would send letters to those houses to discuss for certain if their great houses would support her and would act to overthrow the Lady Ellaria. She only hoped that she had not ruined everything by revealing her hand too soon. There was too much at stake to misstep now.


	6. The Spider and the Serpent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope I did Varys some justice, as well as inserted Sarella into the conversation between Olenna Tyrell and Ellaria/Sand Snakes in a way that didnt ruin the scene from S6, Episode 10 or alter it too much. And I like Varys, so I didnt want to ruin him.
> 
> A note on Sarella's character in this chapter: since the show portrayed Nymeria/Obara/Tyene as more, how shall we say, sadistic than their book counterparts I felt Sarella needed to show a little of that when riled. Hence the scene with the cheese knife. Just because she's more interested in books and history and tradition doesnt mean she cant be just as lethal. She is Oberyn's daughter, after all. 
> 
> I also wanted to try and show that the relationship between the four eldest is complex, with it changing constantly as to who is getting along with who. Like many siblings from families with more than 2 kids. There's always going to be changing alliances.

~Chapter 6~

[SPOILERS for Season 6, Episode 10 + Season 7]

Sarella sighed deeply, rubbing her forehead as a headache started to tap dance its way through her head. Like most of the Seven Kingdoms, Dorne had its own ruling council that governed the day to day running of the region. Unlike, say, Kings Landing, their grand council wasn’t landed nobility only. Doran had ensured that the common classes had just as much say in the running of the country as their noble counterparts. Nor was it all male members either, harking back to the laws of equal inheritance. It was a very important role to be a council member and very demanding of ones time. She remembered her uncle going every day to discuss things with the members and make decisions, having sat on his lap many times, because she wanted to know what it meant to be a ruler. It seemed, as she sat there trying not to scream, that other members of the family had forgotten the role even existed.

“Did you bring this up with the Lady Ellaria?” she asked for the fifteenth time that meeting. 

By the looks the members passed between each other, she could guess the answer.

Giving a deep sigh, Sarella leaned forwards. “Honoured members,” she decided finally, “please leave it with me. I will discuss it with her and we shall let you know when we meet again tomorrow, alright?”

While there was a little grumbling under their breaths, the Council nodded. Opening the page to the next point of business, she tapped her finger against the scrolling writing. It had been six weeks since she’d arrived back in Dorne and here she was, sitting in her uncles seat trying to hold everything together. Her sisters didn’t seem to care that they now had a country to rule and Ellaria, now she had the power she wanted, didn’t know what to do with it. Sarella had come across her sitting on the throne one evening, crying over an old love letter from Oberyn. Even though she loathed the woman, the sight of Ellaria sobbing made Sarella feel just a tiniest bit bad for her. But mostly, it made her frustrated that nobody but her had thought about the implications of taking over control, nobody wanted to follow through either. Obara spent all her days riding or training the army she was so fond of; Nymeria was always holed up in her rooms either sleeping or reading and Tyene….Tyene had taken up her fathers passion for poisons and spent all day playing with new chemicals or properties of poisons.

So, it had fallen to the youngest of the four to try and keep everything afloat.

“Council,” she eventually spoke, hiding her dismay behind that easy smile, “what of our next point on the list? The proposed tournament to cement the new change in government. Lady Ellaria is passionate about making sure that the people of Sunspear, and the noble houses, have a chance to show off to outsiders the best of Dorne. She suggests inviting representatives from the other regions to partake. What are your thoughts on this scheme?” Her thoughts on the subject she kept to herself, throwing inquisitive looks around at the other members instead.

Down the other end of the table, Ulrick Sand, one of the commonfolk members shifted uncomfortably then spoke up. “My Lady, please don’t take this as the entire consensus of the council but I have deep concerns. Our treasury is wealthy but it is not that deep. Spending our wealth on a tournament seems a waste when we have palaces to provide upkeep and the Water Gardens to provide water for.”

“But what about our prestige, Ulrick?” shot back Lady Amarei of House Vaith. “Our country needs it. Oberyn’s antics, the death of our Prince and Heir, the sadness of Myrcella’s passing. If there was one way to convince the rest of the Kingdoms that Dorne remains strong then a tournament with the best riders and fighters across Westeros would solve all our problems.”

“By condoning Ellaria’s assassination?” ventured Mors Elvyar, a wealthy member of the merchant classes of Sunspear. “Trumpeting it across the world? Everyone in Kings Landings knows we’re responsible for Myrcella’s death! Yet SHE sits on our throne and you want to promote that? That’s suicide, tantamount to war and my guild will never help to fund that.”

Tanselle Sand, a bastard daughter of House Fowler, cleared her throat softly. “Council, Council, we must be prudent in our words,” she protested. “The Lady Sarella’s sisters are the daughters of Lady Ellaria, we must remember not to give offence.”

Sarella sat back as the table devolved into several conversations, each trying to cover the others. Slouching back slightly in her chair, she tapped her dark fingers slowly on the teak wood, focusing on the steady drum of flesh on wood. Her eyes closed halfway in thought as the arguments continued, chewing her bottom lip between her top teeth. Both sides had valid points; they needed to present a united front not only to their own people but outsiders but at the same time, promoting Ellaria’s government would spell a declaration of war. Besides, she had Arianne’s future to think of and a plan to carry through.  Stretching back into the rigidity of the chair, she cleared her throat loud enough that everyone turned to view her.

“Council,” she finally answered. “You all share valid points and I have listened to both sides but I have decided that the tournament shall not go ahead. We simply cannot afford, at this time, to spend such money.”

Holding up her hand as some protested, she rose and bowed to the members. “I promise you that nobody will receive Ellaria’s displeasure but myself. I count you, our Council, as great advisors to us all. But that is my decision. I will see you all tomorrow, when we meet again at the same time.”

Sweeping out of her uncles old state apartments, she held her head up as she walked away. Stopping by a pillar, Sarella allowed herself a smile of pure satisfaction the slipped back into that perfect mask of neutrality and the knowing smile. Deciding to go and tell Ellaria right away, she headed towards the apartments that used to belong to aunt Mellario but had been taken over and was surprised that there was nobody in sight. Seeking her sisters in their own rooms, she found nobody except servants. Tracking down one of the maidservants, she demanded to know where her family were.

“Lady Sarella, your sisters are in the visiting gardens. They received an important visitor in the Lady Olenna Tyrell of Highgarden.”

Staring at the servant who bobbed a curtsy then went back to her work, Sarella chewed her bottom lip. Why hadn’t she been notified of this? Irritated at being left out, curious as to what was happening and determined to keep abreast of anything that might hurt her chances of winning her game, she hurried off. Entering the gardens just as Olenna brushed off Tyene, she bobbed a curtsy and then took her place at the left side of Ellaria’s chair.

“Apologies Lady Ellaria. Lady Olenna,” she murmured contritely. Folding her hands in front of her stomach, she sent a look of inquisitiveness at her sisters and raised an eyebrow at Tyene who looked furious at being excluded from the conversation. Watching the exchange between Ellaria and Olenna, Sarella wondered for a few seconds if her ‘step-mother’ knew something. The message of vengeance and justice Ellaria was outlining gleefully felt just a little too convenient and for a second, Sarella debated making her excuses and leaving.

‘Calm yourself,’ her thoughts interjected. ‘She doesn’t suspect you. It isn't you she’s talking about but the reason she did all this. For your father.’

As Lord Varys appeared suddenly, Sarella was just as taken aback as the rest of her family but hid it faster. Watching him with slightly narrowed eyes, she recognized his words as being the motto of House Targaryen and smiled a tight-lipped smile. Whether the rest of the Sands recognized that, she didn’t know, but she still remained silent. The last time Dorne had come to the aid of the dragon kings, they had lost everything important. Aunt Elia had died for that stupid motto, her cousins had died for proud but empty words, their greatest noble house and their most proud castle had crashed and burned in a cloud of fire and blood. With those two words, Varys obviously wished to draw them back into that old alliance between the Targaryens and the Martells.

Listening as Ellaria and Olenna argued and fought, Sarella let her eyes drift across and lock with Varys’ lighter ones. The man before her seemed simple but she knew that it was just an act; after all, it was an open secret that Lord Varys had had spies everywhere. The young acolytes at the Citadel used to jest and play games guessing what sorts of rumours the spies there were writing, or which Maesters were affiliated with him. The Spider, they called him. The subject of many creepy stories told at the dead of night; tales of his lidless eyes and supernatural abilities to be everywhere and nowhere at once.

As his eyes watched her, she leaned across and whispered to Tyene. “That man there, Lord Varys, is it true that he travelled in our fathers steps?”

“Maybe,” Tyene replied back as she eyed him and then gave a shudder of revulsion. “They say he met the Dragon Queen in Essos, that he travelled with that dwarf and now they are her hands.”

Sarella shrugged idly. “Your mother seems to think he’s important enough to listen to.”

“Stop calling her that,” Tyene hissed viciously. “She made father happy and she’s honouring his memory and Aunt Elia’s memory too! Daenerys is our family.”

Sarella laughed quietly and teased her by bringing up a long debunked taunt they used to use as children to mock each other. “Oh dear, so she’s not your mother then?” she teased lightly. “And here I thought sister Elia was the one left naked under a bench to be found by our father. You looked so much nicer with clothes on, sister dear.”

Nymeria gave a convulsive giggle and slapped her hand over her lips lest Olenna or Ellaria hear and even Obara gave a chortle under her breath. The glares Tyene was giving her ceased as she processed the words, clamping her lips shut to stop herself from laughing. Sarella made it worse by wiggling her eyebrows and screwing up her face, her antics leading to all of the sisters eventually doubled up behind the throne laughing as silently as they could. A few muffled giggles were all that came out.

However, the attack of mirth instantly disappeared as Ellaria and Olenna finished discussing things, the older Sand daughters perfect images of propriety and decorum once again. Sarella moved back with a few shuffled steps to her original position and caught Varys eye again, her lips giving that sphinx smile. Bowing in the Dornish way as Olenna was escorted by Ellaria to her new apartments, she was about to follow her sisters when she felt breath in her ear and heard Varys speak. “My Lady, a word?”

Turning her head to see him at her elbow, she arched an eyebrow at him and waved offhandedly as Nymeria turned to see if she was following. Waiting until they were alone, she turned fully and studied him properly now.

“Lord Varys."

“My Lady Sand.”

The silence stretched on, both of them staring at each other, as if daring the other to break the silence and lose out. Sarella relished the competition, her smile only widening. Finally, Varys spoke. “My Lady Sarella, I was afraid that you had been detained too much to arrive.”

Sarella laughed merrily. “Oh Lord Varys, the rumours you’ve been spreading around are true. I thought you’d be so boring in real life, not as what they say. Such flattery toward a bastard of only half-royal stock makes you look like you’re reaching. Did you lose your edge while you were away in Essos?”

Smoothly, Varys returned. “And you are as visionary as they say, Lady. A woman acolyte of the Citadel, indeed such a first. I thought that nobody could truly pull it off but now I have met you, I bow down.”

“Oh your repartee is very enjoyable, my Lord,” Sarella smirked knowingly and then sobered.

“What do you want?” she asked bluntly.

“Merely that our new Queen, Daenerys, values the Martell forces your family has pledged to take back her throne,” Varys answered lightly. “And their loyalty.”

Sarella’s face lost the smirk as it crystallised and then faded to an icy look, her eyes becoming fiery. “Does Dorne hold such little regard that we should be accused of disloyalty when we have ever supported the Targaryen throne?” she snapped, looking quite like her father in that moment.

“I didn’t mean disrespect,” Vary started but she cut him off with a look.

“May I remind you, Lord Varys,” she continued bitingly, “that my family has deep and long ties to the Targaryen line and remained loyal, even after my aunt and cousins death.  Daenerys is my aunt’s sister, my cousins aunt and descended from Martells, as are we. Even after Rhaegar was slain and the Lannisters and Baratheons took the throne, we Dornish fought on. We sheltered the Stark whelp on our lands as she died, for them, and many of our noble heirs died for them, as well as countless generations of our common people.”

She paused, then eyed him.

“And what did you do, lord Varys? Why, you abandoned the Targaryens like a sinking rat on one of my mothers rivals ships. Pledged fealty to the usurpers and served him faithfully. You speak of loyalty and yet you have none. When you sensed it was your time and your advantage you simply left them and went back to your first master. Your loyalty is as empty as your words of flattery. I am a Martell by blood, if not by name and you insult us all in our own house. Do not accuse my family of anything again, Lord Varys, or we will show you exactly why the Dornish call us Sand Snakes.”

“I meant no ill words, Lady Sarella,” Varys spoke after a long silence. “It wasn’t my intent to wound you and your family. I meant it only to compliment your family for exactly what you have just said. The Martells are a loyal family, yes. And no I don’t deny any barbs you’ve sent in my direction. I’m fairly used to them, after all,” he finished with a smile.

Sarella studied him, then let her stony expression melt a little. “Well met then. Should we offer you an apartment to stay in, so you can meet with the Lady Ellaria further?”

“Oh, no. I must depart soon but thankyou for your offer of hospitality.”

Nodding, she bowed in the Dornish style to him. “The Rhoyne speed you safe then, Lord Varys.”

As he bowed back, she left him in the gardens and walked back to the palace with her back straight and her walk proud. As soon as she was under cover, her gait changed to fast and agitated as she sought her family, crossing into the private accommodation. There was no sign of Obara [probably out grooming or riding her horse somewhere] but Nymeria and Tyene were eating dinner with their youngest four sisters, lazing on dining couches. Sitting down with a flourish, Sarella’s eyes sparked as she reached for a handful of crumbly goats cheese and some grapes.

“What kept you?” Nymeria asked, eyebrows raised. She spoke in Rhoynar, not the common tongue

Dropping grapes into her mouth, Sarella said nothing then swatted Obella’s hand as she tried to take Loreza’s orange segments.

Tyene laughed as Obella sniffed injuriously, then scowled at Elia who scowled right back.

“Well?!”

“Oh Nym,” Sarella drawled lazily.  “Why ever would I tell you that?”

Nymeria scowled. “Because we’re sisters and we tell each other everything!”

“Oh really?” Sarella’s voice lost a little of the smirk. “So when was I to know of your plan to murder uncle in this house then, hmm?”

Tyene looked between her sisters and decided to busy herself whispering to Dorea who had been watching everything with wide eyes.

“Why must you bring that up every time?” Nymeria snapped. “It’s like a mania for you, just like aunt Elia was for father.”

Sarella studied her silently, her eyes narrowed into snake-like slits. Time had slowed in the room as Nymeria’s words reverberated around them. It was an unspoken rule that Elia Martell was a topic avoided around the younger children. Dorne loved Elia Martell enough to use her name for many children [Ellaria being a common variant of the name Elia], including Oberyns fifth daughter but her murder had defined an entire generation. Doran had rarely brought it up because it grieved him too much and Oberyn had said once that it made him sad and angry. Angrier than normal.

After many minutes of silence, Sarella leaned towards her older sister and then purposefully picked up one of the cheese knives. Twirling it in her fingers, she drew it out as it flicked and spun then she thrust it outwards in one swift movement so the tip touched Nymeria’s throat.

“I would not throw that accusation around, sister,” she replied. “Not while the knives lie in easy reach and could accidentally…” she pressed it for emphasis, the tip grazing the skin and drawing a drop of blood, “fly off the table with horrifying results. Do you really wish to pick a fight with me?” Her voice was soft in volume but the tone was deathly cold, filled with unspoken venom.

“You’re threatening me?” Nymeria slapped the knife away. “I'm older than you and I’m stronger than you. You’d never win.”

Tyene interrupted, seeing the gleam in Sarella’s eyes. “Sisters! The sherbet will be coming soon and we don’t want it to melt before we get to fight over who chose the best flavour.”

“No, that would be a terrible waste of Nasra’s handiwork,” Sarella agreed and placed the knife down by the plate. The rest of the dinner was pleasant but cool, Nymeria stalking off as soon as they’d finished the cheese course.

Tyene waited until the youngest four had been claimed by their nurses and sent off to bed then fixed Sarella with a look.

“What?” Sarella lazily answered.

Tyene rolled her eyes. “Her I can understand attacking when threatened, but you’re usually the one who stays calm under pressure.”

“I slapped you, didn’t I?” Sarella flippantly replied.

Shrugging, Tyene lazed back. “Only reason I didn’t slip something into your coffee the next morning was we’re family. I get you’re angry, Sarella, okay? And I deserved the slaps.”

“Do my ears deceive me or is Tyene Sand, mistress of poisons and hasty anger, admitting she was wrong?” teased Sarella.

Tyene frowned at her. “I’m serious, ‘Ella. Don’t joke.”

“Then what are you saying, sister?” Sarella asked, all serious now.

Tyene stretched out further, rolling her shoulders. “I know that out of all of us, father always said you were the smartest one. You’re always trying to figure out how the world works and why people do what they do, that’s what you’re good at. But the world isn’t like the Citadel, Sarella. Books and arguing about the past aren’t going to help. Aunt Elia is dead, Uncle Doran and Trystane are dead. All we have is us.”

She held up a hand to stop Sarella from interrupting. “I know, I know. Mothers plan was a bad idea as you keep saying. But what is done is done, okay? This is how the world is now. Nymeria is a sister you don’t want to anger and we both know it. She holds grudges, or did you forget what happened when you accidentally cut off her dolls hair?”

Sarella laughed. “I’d forgotten about that.”

“The point is,” Tyene smiled for a few seconds, “the future of Dorne is at stake. We all love this land and we love our people. Just…don’t pick fights, okay? Not within our own family and not with my mother. Can you try?”

An eventual nod came. “Okay, fine. But you know that’s asking for the impossible with this family,” she reminded her.

“At least try to minimise the fights then,” Tyene smirked. “Maybe to once a day?”

They both laughed, before Tyene bent down and kissed both her cheeks.

Leaving Sarella alone among the plates and dishes, she disappeared to bed as Sarella sighed and put her head on the table with a moan. Banging it once or twice, she flopped down and stared out at the candles littering the table, her chin jutting out. Tyene was right, the past was past. And she loved her family, truly she did. She didn’t want to harm them, even if they were as vicious to each other as desert asps were to other snakes. But what she was plotting would harm them, would hurt everyone.

After today, she was starting to think that maybe this plan was a bad idea. Maybe they should change their minds.

‘No,’ her mind reminded her. ‘Its too late to back out.’


	7. Reservations

 ~Chapter 7~

Now that Dorne had allied itself with the renewed Targaryen claim to the Iron Throne, Sarella had received permission to retire to Kingsgrave for the moment. Ellaria had seemed almost eager to get rid of her and Sarella suspected she was being pushed to the side so her presence wouldn’t be a rallying point for those who disagreed with the renewed Martell-Targaryen alliance, so she wouldn’t be at the centre of an anti-Ellaria faction. Still, being able to return to Arianne was a blessing, since they could plan within the relative isolation of the Lordly house with less chance of being overheard than if they were in Sunspear. Before she left, Sarella had ensured that she had at least started creating her own spy network. Most of them were servants at the Martell palace, although she had cultivated some friendships with the more common folk in Sunspear city.

Having ensured that she would hear more news than normal, she had kissed her sisters goodbye and then rode out back to Arianne on her great stallion. She didn’t bother to be entertained by the noble houses on her way, preferring to gain more miles distance instead. This meant that she could reach Kingsgrave in half the time by riding hard, something she genuinely enjoyed doing. With the daughters of Oberyn Martell, it seemed that the only ones who liked the horse side of Dorne were Obara and Sarella, the daughters of common women. Nymeria was pure nobility, half-Volantine and half Dornish princely house while Tyene and her sisters were the granddaughters of Lord Uller of Hellholt through Ellaria. In stark contrast, Obara was the daughter of a common woman from Oldtown [although rumour had it that she might have been something less…morally upright] and Sarella’s mother was a trader and ship captain from the Summer Islands.

Pulling up to the gates of House Manwoody, she swung off her horse and walked him through the wrought-iron barricades with a hand on the bridle. Calling for servants, she relinquished the black horse to the male servant who came running and searched for her cousin. Finding her in deep conversation with Lord Manwoody, she waited patiently until Arianne was alone and then wrapped her cousin in a hug. Resting her head on her shoulder, she gave a long deep sigh as Arianne patted her head with a laugh.

“Anyone looking might think you have designs on me,” she teased Sarella.

“Would that be so bad if I did?” Sarella tilted her head and snuggled closer. “After all, its not like we’re sisters. ”

Arianne smirked. “And we know how that works out, don’t we?”

Sarella laughed. “Anyone who has issues with our relationship can meet my bow and arrow and have a conversation with them.”

“You cant say that!” she objected.

Sarella chuckled and then released her. “Make me take the words back then.”

“I can do that as Princess of Dorne,” she retaliated with a smirk and a poke of her tongue. “Besides, as the last of the Martells I have a duty to continue our line and produce heirs.”

Sarella grinned and ruffled her short hair. “Yes, my Princess. But until you have a spouse then I have you all to myself.”

“Well, that is fair, as a reward for all your services to the throne of Dorne,” her eyes twinkled as she fluffed her long ringlets then sat down on a nearby bench.  The two cousins stared at each other for a while, before Arianne broke the silence with a sigh.

“Did you succeed in our plan?” she asked lightly, with a glance casually either side to make sure they were alone.

Sarella shrugged. “I tried to, honest I did. The Grand Council is split down the middle; half think that Ellaria is a usurper and the rest are…cautious. I have some sources in Sunspear city among the commonfolk now but when I left to see you, all anyone was talking about was the new alliance with Highgarden and Daenerys Targaryen that Ellaria was so passionate about.”

“Daenerys?”

Seeing Arianne’s confused expression, Sarella let her lips compress. “Rhaegar’s little sister.”

“R-Rhaegar?” Arianne’s voice trembled with anger. “Don’t ever speak that name again in my presence, Sarella!” she rose from her seat and stalked away through the gardens.

Sarella followed, her booted feet making little noise compared to the stomping of the bare feet.

Making her way through the gardens, Arianne slapped at overhanging plants and then whirled abruptly on the spot. Her skirts slapped against her ankles as her face had settled into a mask of hatred. “Never will that name be heard in my presence,” she spat. “If it wasnt for that vain, arrogant, overgrown lizard then I would not be mourning my family! We would be happy! I curse that name! If Rhaegar hadn’t thought with the cock between his legs alone and left Aunt Elia for a northern girl of no beauty then Dorne would not be at war and my father wouldn’t be dead! I would be happy at Sunspear right now! Instead I’m stuck here, pretending to care about banquets and parties and nothing else so that Ellaria doesn’t decide to kill me, scheming to get back a throne that is mine by right, dependent on other peoples charity! I hope Rhaegar is burning in the deepest circle of hell and never, ever say that name again to me!”

“I promise, cousin,” Sarella finally answered.

Her hate-filled look slowly softened as the anger abated, pushing ringlets out of her face with her right hand. “We’re doing the right thing, right?” she asked after a while of silence.

“Arianne…I don’t know,” Sarella sighed in return.

Rubbing her cropped head, she came to stand next to her cousin as they looked out towards Kingsgrave. “When I flew back on my horse from Oldtown, all I could think about was you and your safety and getting your throne back. But I love my sisters and if we go through with this, they could…they could die. I loved your father and your brother but I also love our family and that includes those who killed them. How can I rationalise that anymore? They trust me, I could see it in their eyes. I just…I don’t know, okay?”

“Neither do I…” she replied in a whisper as they watched the city below.


	8. Departures

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...the timeline of Season 7 is a little all over the place but I'm drawing my information from the great and useful timeline located here: http://gameofthrones.wikia.com/wiki/Timeline. 
> 
> In the show, it appears that is only a few weeks between Varys appearing in Dorne and the defeat of the Dornish navy [S7, EP.2]. However, its rather unclear so I'm gonna go with the assumption its been at least 1-2 months.

SPOILERS FOR SEASON 7 AHEAD: YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED

~Chapter 8~

 

Sarella had commuted between Kingsgrave and Sunspear frequently as soon as she had learned through her spy network that Daenerys had landed on Westeros and settled herself on Dragonstone. She needed to be there to make sure that nothing got out of hand, so that is how she learnt that the Dornish had received a navy of some kind and that Ellaria and three of her sisters were going to be going out there, which made her see red.

“Just because you’re skilled on land doesn't mean you’ll be the same on a ship!” she yelled at Tyene, waving her hands into the air for emphasis.

Tyene rolled her eyes. “We’ll be fine, I promise!”

Sarella gestured wildly at Obara and Nymeria. “No! I don’t accept that at all! What if something were to happen to you three or Ellaria? What if you lose?”

Obara gave a grunt of disbelief. “We have the Greyjoys.”

“Yes, like that is going to help,” Sarella grouched and then fell into a chair and threw her arms over the sides. “Sometimes I swear fathers intelligence passed you all by,” she muttered darkly.  

Nymeria groaned dramatically as she drained the last dregs of wine. “Spare us the platitudes about Citadel learning please,” she drawled. “We all know the tale; the great Sarella escaped backwards Dorne and went to be a maester then got bored and came back to lord it over us with her books and sayings and posturing. It bores me.”

“That’s not it and you know it!”

A snort came. “Then what?”

Sitting up, Sarella walked over to a table and shoved papers aside. “I grew up on the water before Father came for me; it was my first memory, my playground, my cradle. If anyone should go to war using the navy, its me. Look, water is unpredictable to travel on and fight on. My mother still sails only after saying prayers to every god and spirit known because she knows that anything can change in a split second. Everything goes to plan, that’s great, we’ll be victors. But if a single thing goes wrong – a ship turns the wrong way, the winds don’t pick up, your forces are divided and so on, the list is endless – then the whole fleet could be destroyed or crippled. People drown on simple cargo trade routes, let alone battles. One of you should stay here, to provide for Dorne should something happen.”

She turned her eyes on the other three pleadingly. “Please?”

“This is our fight,” Nymeria objected. “We’re the ones who are going and that’s final!”

Obara looked from one to the other before she uncharacteristically decided to interject. “Sarella,” she began, “no.” Ignoring the wide eyes, she continued. “You have fathers thirst for knowledge and you know how to run this country like uncle did. Your place is here. We will win this battle and come home as victors but this isn’t your fight, we need someone we trust here. Alright? Protect Dorne for us.”

Silence followed the unusually verbose statement, before Sarella sighed and ran a hand over her head, rubbing the curls. “Fine. But you better all come back with Cersei’s head in a box,” she joked.

Nymeria giggled and then enveloped Sarella in a hug from behind, followed closely by Tyene and even Obara followed with her arms around them all. Resting together in a close-knit circle, they stayed that way until their little sisters came running in and tackled the older four. Ellaria, when she entered to seek out Tyene’s whereabouts, found Obara being squashed by both Elia and Obella while Loreza was enveloped in Nymeria’s arms and Sarella and Tyene were underneath the pile with Dorea bouncing up and down on their backs.

Clearing her throat, Ellaria tapped her foot repeatedly until they looked up.

“The dinner feast is waiting,” she announced then grandly swept out.

Groaning, Sarella wriggled out of Dorea’s grip and extricated herself from the knot, the rest of her sisters eventually following suit. Grabbing hold of the younger sisters ankles, she hoisted her up onto her shoulders as the girl giggled, making a face at Loreza with wiggling eyebrows. “I suppose we should go, before Ellaria eats all the olives,” she joked.

“Last one there has to sit next to her,” Nymreria quipped then raced off with Loreza chasing after her.  

Giggling at the thought, Sarella chased after all without looking back to see if the others were following.

\---

The feast, full of celebration and laughter, gave way the next day to sombreness as the Dornish Navy set off to make the journey to Dragonstone. The entire city turned out to farewell the fleet, Sarella and her younger sisters leading the regal spectacle as they stood on the docks and waved goodbye. Many other families wished their loved ones goodbye, the tears flowing from many faces as the ships sailed way.

Grasping the youngest sisters hands and leading them back through the crowded streets to the palace once the fleet had disappeared into the distance, Sarella stayed silent until they passed through the gates then looked down to see four solemn faces looking up at her.

“It wont be long,” she tried to comfort them. “Dragonstone isn’t too far away from here and they’ll be home in a few days, I promise, little snakes.”

Elia looked unimpressed and skeptical at that statement. “Maester Tarquin doesn’t say that,” she retorted, referencing their tutor. “He says this is a fools errand and nothing good can come of allying with a dragon queen and her poisoned bloodline.” Her chin jutted out firmly to bring the point home.

“Well, if her bloodline is poisoned then so is ours,” Sarella retorted. “And don’t talk like that in front of your little sisters. Maester Tarquin is good for learning languages and nothing else.”

“What do you mean, poisoned?” Obella asked in confusion as Elia fumed.

Sarella sighed. “Danerys is our aunt Elia’s sister-in-law,” she explained. “And her ancestor was a Martell, so we are distant cousins. She’s the Mad King’s only surviving child.”

Three sets of big eyes stared at her, Elia avoiding her glance. Everyone knew about the Mad King, Aerys, even someone as young as Loreza. Ruffling hair, Sarella smiled down at them then kissed each one in turn.

“Come on, little sisters,” she joked. “Let us go see if the kitchens have something to eat that will make everyone happy.” Dorea, Obella and Loreza were off like a shot at the idea of food but Elia made no such exit. Instead, she sniffed regally and studied Sarella narrowly.

“What is it, Elia?” Sarella asked conversationally.

“Why wont you treat me like an adult?” Elia snapped and crossed her arms. “Im not a baby!”

Sarella laughed out loud. “Oh Elia, but you’re not an adult!”

“I am too!”

Chuckling at her sisters injured look, she bent down to her. “Look, maybe I was too harsh, alright? Of course you’re not a baby but you’re not yet an adult either. Look at Arianne, she’s only considered an adult because she’s 18 summers and you’re too young yet. I promise I’ll try to include you in things more, alright?”

“Good,” Elia sniffed.

“I swear you’ll be the death of me before you’re an adult,” Sarella teased. “If your sisters don’t get me first. Come on, we better find them before Dorea gets into the arbor wine and Obella gets a stomach ache from too many dried persimmons. Rhoyne knows what Loreza is up to or how many candied fruits she’s inhaled without supervision. ”

Walking up the gardens together, they chatted in Dornish before they parted ways, Elia to find her sisters and Sarella to communicate via raven with Arianne.

Tapping her quill against her chin as she tried to think of a way to word the message, she eventually gave up and stood at the window, resting her arms on the sill. Watching the people below going about their business, she wrinkled her nose in thought. Of course her sisters would be fine, her mind told her, they had an entire fleet to protect them and an alliance with the Greyjoys. There was nothing that could go wrong.

Turning her back, Sarella scratched out a message and attached it to a ravens leg. “Kingsgrave,” she instructed.

Carrying the raven to the window, she released it.

She had instructed Arianne to muster those loyal to her and begin her travels in splendour towards Sunspear. If Ellaria and the fleet arrived before Arianne did, she would have an excuse ready. If not, well, time would tell.


	9. It Begins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to use this chapter to not only orient my story to the events of early Season 7 but also to indicate a little hint of Arianne's sensual nature from the books. 
> 
> I also attempted to give some personality to each of the Sand Snakes, not just the oldest 4. I gave them each distinct personality traits but tied them all back to a different aspect of Oberyn's personality. In the books its indicated [or assumed] that the eight daughters of Oberyn Martell are at least somewhat similar in personality to their father, at least the ones that appear in the books with some form of character development instead of just "daughter of Oberyn, [insert name here]"
> 
> Also...cliffhanger!

_**SPOILERS: SEASON 7 [specifically S7, EP.2]!**_  
  
~Chapter 9~

“I understand, Lord Manwoody,” Arianne patiently explained as she poured over the household expenditure scrolls with him, “but that doesn’t explain why we have to order so many fabric bolts from the Reach when we could just order them from Dornish cities. After all, our own country has everything we need.” Pointing to a few entries, she slid her slim finger over the page to another column. “Look, if we sought an alliance with House Vaith then we could source the same types of cloth for half the cost you’re sending to the Tyrells.”

The older man shrugged. “But we’ve always bought our cloth there,” he dismissed her words. “And they are allies now, so why stop?”

“Just because they’re on the same side as Ellaria doesn’t mean that we should abandon our own countrymen,” she batted his implied statement aside. “We can inspect Dornish cloth here in our own country and control the quality easier then sending supply carts to the Reach every month. Do we not stock our wine cellars with anything but Dornish wine, My Lord? Or the best cheeses and supplies for our tables? We Dornish should have the best choices of our lands first.”

Seeing his expression falter, she smiled disarmingly and placed a soft hand on his teasingly. “If the crown decides to join my house with yours,” she lowered her voice to a soft huskiness, “I will make every effort to ensure House Manwoody receives the best quality as befits my status.”

“Of course, Princess,” he answered eagerly.

Leaning in, she smiled and then turned as a raven cawed from the window. Instantly, she pulled her hand back and rose, leaving the older man in suspense. Unravelling the parchment scroll from the ravens wing, she unfurled it and bent her head to read the words on it. Her expression lightened as she took in the words and walked back to the table. Deftly avoiding the man watching her as he attempted to touch her shoulder, she wrote back a reply and reattached it to the raven then shooed it out into the sky. Turning, her face was lit as if a fire burned inside, her eyes sparking with excitement.

“Lord Manwoody,” she ordered, her voice full of joy, “ready a retinue. I am to proceed to Sunspear to take possession of my throne.”

Staring at her, he finally bowed low. “Of course, My Princess. It will be as you command.”

Bowing again, he swept out of the room and left Arianne alone. Steadying herself against the table, a hand brushed tears of joy and sorrow out of her eyes. It was finally happening! Forcing herself not to scream with happiness, she took off and ran to her apartments. Opening the door, she grabbed for bags and began to pack everything she could see herself needing.

\---

Back at Sunspear, Sarella went about court business as usual. She attended Grand Council meetings and debated with visitors over the evening and midday feasts about policy and Dorne’s vision for the future. She answered correspondence flying between Dorne and Dragonstone, Dorne and the Seven Kingdoms and Dorne and Essos. Several hours a week were spent pouring over the expense scrolls and ordering procedures with the heads of each household department, choosing what things the court needed and where to place the orders. At dusk, she would sometimes go amongst the commonfolk down in the city of Sunspear and engage them in conversation, finding out what they wanted and what they thought. She saw petitioners while sitting on the royal throne, hearing cases and dispensing judgement.

Between all that, Sarella also made sure to spend time with her sisters. Elia, at least, was a help for her. Since the discussion about her age, Sarella had decided to use her closest in age sister to help her govern until Ellaria came back. When she sat as regent on her throne, oftentimes Elia was there next to her, writing down records or giving her advice in council meetings. Obella had complained because she hadn’t been allowed to do the same thing like her older sisters but Sarella had reminded her that she wasn’t at all old enough, being only 12. She hadn’t even started growing in the chest, she remarked dryly to the annoyed Obella.

Musing on that, Sarella smiled as she remembered the indignation on Obella’s face as she crossed her arms over her flat chest. It had mirrored the expression Arianne had carried for years before she had started to blossom; Arianne had prayed to both the Seven and Mother Rhoyne for years that she would be as voluptuous as her older cousins [minus Sarella herself, who was very small-chested herself]. It was amusing that each of the eight daughters of Oberyn Martell had very distinct personalities, although each had some aspect of their fathers personality buried inside of them.

Obara, the eldest, was taciturn and interested in little else other then horses and the martial arts. She represented the commanding aspect of Oberyn; rarely talking or offering an opinion among the squabbles of the family but when she did speak, everyone stopped and listened. She was blunt and forthright in her speech but also the most protective of all the Sand Snakes, using her broad body and intimidating presence to dissuade anyone who tried to pick on or hurt her family. You didn’t mess with Obara, if you valued your life.

Nymeria, second oldest, combined the elegance and nobility of both her parents with her fathers sharp tongue. Her mother was a noblewoman from Volantis and she had been raised in absolute luxury for most of her childhood, so she was accustomed to only respect and deference. Oberyn had given her his cunning, observation and strategic mind; something she shared with Uncle Doran, surprisingly. She had the sharpest tongue of all the Sand Snakes, enjoying word puzzles and banter but always with a barb behind every word.

Tyene was Ellaria’s first child with Oberyn and she had the fieriness of her mother and grandfather inside of her as well. The most fiery of all the Sand Snakes, Oberyn had given her his love of poisons but he had also bequeathed to her his impetuousness and his anger. Whereas Nymeria waited and calculated, Tyene would slash out immediately, not taking the time to think about the consequences of what she was doing.

Sarella herself knew exactly what she’d gotten from her father; his love of learning and his insatiable curiousity for the world around him. She shared a little of it with Tyene [they shared a similar like of poisons] but just like Oberyn, Sarella was obsessed with learning more. She also didn’t like to be tied down in one spot for too long at a time and got bored easily. She also carried his seemingly unflappable demeanour, able to hide her intentions behind a mask better than many of her siblings.

Elia, the eldest of the ‘young snakes’ was wild and, as her father called her once, ‘wilfull.’ When Sarella watched her, she saw Oberyn not so much in intelligence or observation but in sheer stubbornness. Elia was as stubborn as her father; once she decided on a course of action she was going to complete it and nobody could stop her. She also rarely admitted she was wrong, just like father. Because she was so stubborn, Elia was very much a daredevil like her father. She showed little fear and rarely backed down from a dare.

Obella was Oberyn’s most sensitive daughter, easily saddened over things like the death of a pet or the injustice of others, as well as easy to rile up with teasing. She also represented his more artistic nature, forever trying to come up with a new poem or drawing and her favourite topics of conversation centered around aesthetic things like landscapes or art. Obella loved beautiful things and shared that love with both of her parents, as well as their hedonistic attitude, having an attitude of ‘what is the worst that can happen?’.

Dorea was only eight but she still had her own defined personality, although being the second youngest meant that she was often left with her youngest sister. The two youngest sand snakes were spoiled and coddled by everyone in the palace and Dorea was especially prone to being a brat. What made up for it was pure charisma, just like her father. There was nobody quite as adept as Dorea at convincing other people to do what she wanted them to, using mostly her words but also her keen observational skills and her command of body language. The times were too many to count when Sarella remembered Dorea getting out of trouble with her silver tongue.

Last but certainly not least, Loreza. Loreza was sweet and pliable and excelled at making everyone love her, just like Oberyn. Even though she was the youngest, Sarella saw her as probably the most sensual of the Sand Snakes. People just fell in love with her, a fact she wasn’t too young to understand and take advantage of at times. Just like Oberyn had been a lover to many people who had loved him back passionately, she worried that Loreza’s skill would get her in trouble. She was also the most optimistic of the eight daughters, having a zest for life in her that always made her older sisters smile.

What the Sand Snakes all shared in common from the father was a deep loyalty to Dorne and each other as well as a fiery temper. Despite their differing personalities and ways of expressing themselves, they loved each other deeply. For all the arguments and physical altercations, for all the alliances they made and broke between the eight of them, they truly loved each other. The older four doted on their younger sisters and in return, the four youngest looked up to their older sisters with unfiltered love and admiration.

Smiling at those thoughts, Sarella stretched lazily. What she and Arianne had engineered was a coup, yes, but it would be a bloodless one on her part. If it succeeded, Ellaria would pay, yes, but her sisters would not die for their crimes. Despite what they had done to Uncle and cousin Trystane, Sarella loved them and would never hurt them in return. Not just because she believed that their father would rise from the dead and haunt her if she murdered her sisters in cold blood, but because she loved them, they were her sisters. They were blood and blood was what mattered in the end.

Ushering in the next petitioner, she leaned forward as her face slipped into that bland, neutral mask.

\---

The Dornish Fleet left Dragonstone with Ellaria, Tyene, Obara and Nymeria on board. Sailing out of the sheltered and rocky area where they had moored during the negotiations, the members of the royal family were feeling very happy indeed. Unaware of the coup looming on the horizon back in Dorne, they lunched together in the Captains cabin, caught up in animated conversation. Daenerys had agreed that Dorne would retain their status when she ruled from Kings Landing and that they would be rewarded for their loyalty to the Targaryen dynasty.

Caught up in the excitement, the fleet failed to realise that they were being pursued…


	10. Blood, Water and Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPOILER WARNING: This chapter describes the events of Euron Greyjoy's attack on Yara and Theon's fleet, as shown in Season 7, Episode 2. I tried to match it to the episode as close as possible so this will give out MAJOR plot points.
> 
> CONTENT WARNING: This chapter has the following: mentions of blood, impalement, hanging, mutilation of and display of corpses, suffocation while mutilated, brutal deaths. If these upset you in any way, please do not read further.

~Chapter 10~

Euron’s fleet followed them until they were in the middle of the Narrow Sea, then attacked.

The call to arms went up, screaming above the solitude of Ellaria and Yara kissing and the three Sand Snakes clustered together joking and teasing below the decks. Rushing up to the deck of the ship, Obara Nymeria and Tyene saw the Ironborn fleet all around them and fire starting to lick at other ships. Staring in shock, the three of them looked around at a loss for what to do. This was not supposed to happen.

As they argued together, Euron’s ship got closer and a boarding ramp slammed down onto the deck of Yara’s ship. The first charge of Euron’s men swarmed over the ramp and onto the ship. Yara grabbed an axe and charged into the fray, swinging as she parried blows. Tyene stood on the deck watching, debating whether to charge into the fray when she saw a man about to bear down on Yara. Grabbing her dagger, she threw it as hard as she could and it found its mark, burying its blade deep in his face. Running over to check he was dead and grab her blade, Yara grabbed her hand.

“Your mothers below deck,” she ordered. “Keep her safe!”

Without another word, Yara raced off back into the fray. Dashing downstairs, Tyene found her mother and they embraced. Turning, she brought her daggers up in front of her chest and readied herself as Euron’s men came down the stairs shortly after.

\---

Fire and screaming, everywhere.

Nymeria and Obara knew that they were out of their depth but they fought anyway. Mowing down enemies as they fought their way to the centre of the ship, they briefly squeezed each others hands before spying Euron Greyjoy up ahead. While they had never met him, Yara and Theon had told them enough during the short time they’d know each other. Slashing out, Nymeria wrapped the whip around his neck and yanked as hard as she could, a yell issuing from him as he dropped the axe and grabbed at his neck. Pulling hard, she jerked him backwards and he came flying towards them, Nymeria stepping back fluidly to avoid him hitting her.

She didn’t manage to out dodge his fist though, slamming back with a yell of pain. Yelling in anger, Obara attacked him with her spear and sliced deep through his side with the bladed spearhead. Knocking him over onto his back, she brought the spear around and was about to bring it through his chest when he recovered and sprung to his feet. Parrying her, he knocked her back hard so she staggered. This gave Nymeria the chance to recover and get to her feet, bringing down the whip hard between Obara and Euron. It slashed at him, turning his attention away and towards Nymeria.

\---

Downstairs, Tyene was fighting just as hard. Forcing the attackers to stay between her and Ellaria, she slashed out. Her daggers found purchase in one of the mens faces, biting deep into the flesh as he screamed in pain. Stabbing another in the knee, she slid down and buried it deep between his legs with a yell of triumph, enjoying the screams.

\---

Obara attacked Euron again, using her strong legs built up from decades of horse riding to parry against his own and send him staggering back. Grabbing hold of the long spear handle, Euron used it as momentum and grabbed her by the throat. Swinging her round, he head butted her viciously as blood started to stream from her forehead. Using the spear still in his grip, he brought it against her back and slammed her down, breaking her spine. Using her own spear, he impaled her through the chest as she gave a lurch and a guttural scream. It penetrated through her body and came out the other end, Obara’s eyes widening as she realised, blood starting to gush from her mouth. With a yell of triumph, Euron grabbed her and pushed her up into the air while still impaled on her own weapon.

Nymeria was in the process of attacking and killing a man when she heard the yell and turned. Seeing Obara’s body in Euron’s hands, she let out a grief and anger filled scream of rage and charged at him. Slashing at him wildly with her whip, she raged as he turned and faced her. Again and again she hacked and slashed at him, eventually grabbing him around the neck like before chocking him with it. Grabbing wildly for the whip, Euron pulled her closer and she moved fast, slashing through his stomach with a sharp blade as she coiled her whip around him.

Slashing at him again and forcing him to double over to protect himself, the stronger and more experienced man returned back with a heavy punch that connected with her face. As she fell,  he ran forwards and grabbed both her and the whip. Wrapping the long cord around her neck, he pulled and slammed her down against some barrels, in similar fashion to Obara. Blood bloomed on her forehead as he used his superior strength and higher ground to wrap it around her throat again and choke her.

\---

Down below deck, Tyene’s space ran out as more and more men attacked. One of them managed to hit her in the face before she could get him, punching her again before he wrapped his arms around her neck and held on, avoiding the daggers she wielded before they fell from her hands. Her struggling continued even after they were dragged up to the ships deck, although without her weapons she was next to useless against the stronger men who had subdued her.

As they were dragged away, Tyene screamed as she saw the bodies of her sisters strung up on the ship. Nymeria was still alive, barely, the whip that she had used so many times finally winning as she let out a final choke and then fell silent, her body swinging gently in the night air. Fighting her captors, Tyene kept screaming as they were taken away, begging her sisters to stay alive, to come rescue her.


	11. Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> News of what happened to the Martell fleet arrives back in Sunspear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I know this chapter has been a very long time in coming but there's a reason for that. I originally started this chapter shortly after the previous one and was about halfway through when a blood relative died unexpectedly. Ever since then, every time I've looked at continuing I couldnt face it. Having to write family reaction to unexpected death hit too close to home for me.
> 
> However, I've tried my best to complete the chapter for you readers.

There were few survivors of the massacre; most of them either died in the water or wounds of exposure or were picked off by the victors for sport. Theon Greyjoy survived, as did a few scattered Dornishmen. While the survivors were picked up by a surviving Greyjoy ship, the Dornish survivors did not go back to Dragonstone with the fleet but requested to be set down at the Dornish borders. So they were set down in Dorne at Yronwood, a great and old castle located on the coast of the Sea of Dorne which emptied out into the Narrow Sea. Given shelter and beds, they slept for days before any sense could be got out of their ravings. Anders Yronwood, the head of House Yronwood, had been in residence when the survivors had arrived and insisted that a record be kept not just of what they said but if they dreamed anything as well, so servants sat up all night as the men slept, jotting down whatever ramblings and ravings came.  


When they were rested and well-fed, Anders listened silently to the recounting of the Battle of the Narrow Sea, his entire house gathered around him. While his children and grandchildren gasped, screamed and made noises as the tale came out, he said nothing then sat back once they were finished and rubbed his chin. His dark eyes studied the men, before he straightened his back and finally spoke. 

“We must send word to the capital immediately, before word gets out from Kings Landing. Send a raven to the Old Palace to the head of the household, with instructions not to let the ruling council know until these men can arrive and give a first hand account of themselves.”

Getting up, he walked out of the room as his family followed uncertainly.  
\---  
It took a few more days but the men were eventually sent down the coast to Sunspear, judged well enough to make the journey. As they traveled, ravens were sent back and forth between Anders and the capital. True to the order, the head of the Old Palace household made no mention to Sarella what had happened to her sisters and the Dornish Fleet. Arianne was still making her triumphant progress through the lands of Dorne, purposefully slowing it to a crawl so the noble houses could welcome her and show fealty to the last legitimate Martell. It would be foolhardy to broadcast what had happened before the men arrived; he had punished a servant girl for not keeping her mouth shut about it around the other servants. 

When the men finally made it to the Old Palace, Sarella was discussing matters with one of the senior clerks when the head of the household entered the room.

“My Lady, there are men who need to speak to you,” he spoke politely after bowing low.

Sarella looked up. “Can it not wait, Martyn?”

“No, my Lady. It concerns the Naval Fleet. They are in the grand audience room waiting.”

A fluttering in her stomach made Sarella pause, waiting to see if his face betrayed anything. To her annoyance it was smooth and neutral, so she rolled the scrolls up and then swept out of the room. Making her way there, she swept in and sat on the throne grandly.

“Well?” she asked the small group of men gathered in front of her. “I trust this is good news, sers?”

The group exchanged glances at each other, before they bowed deeply. “Uh, Lady Sarella, it is not…” one finally ventured timidly.

“What…happened?” Sarella’s voice slowed and became edged with ice as she straightened reflexively in the chair. Her body leant forwards slightly as she fixed her black eyes on them, hard now. 

The man who had spoken gulped, before everything poured out with some help from the other men. They told her everything that had happened; the death of her sisters at the hands of Euron Greyjoy and their mutilation, the capture of Ellaria and Tyene, the death of nearly all those who had left Sunspear a few days ago, the graphic deaths of many of their subjects. Every detail.

As they spoke, Sarella’s face stiffened and became rigid, her lips locked together. The only betrayal was her fingers, tightening on the arms of the chair until paler bands appeared around her fingers from the pressure. As the room fell silent, she still said nothing. She couldn’t trust herself to speak for fear she would start to scream, wail, cry out in horror and grief. Swallowing tightly, she nodded a single time and then turned her head away. Breathing deeply, she closed her eyes and then steeled herself. Like she’d reminded her sisters many times, she had quick wits under stress. Composing her face into the mask of neutrality her uncle had worn many times, she turned back.

“Thankyou, sers, for the news of our fleets fate. You must be aching to see your families again after so long, Peace and may Mother Rhoyne guide your ways. We will speak again, soon, I hope.”

Watching them bow and walk out, she made a motion for the guards to close the door and then let out the long breath she’d been holding deep in her lungs. As the breath issued from her lips, a sob squeaked out and she clapped her hands over her lips. How could she have let this happen? The plan she and Ariadne had come up with hadn’t involved actually murdering their own family? Hadn’t she made it clear that they weren’t Ellaria? Yes, they wanted her gone but not dead! She was fathers most enduring love after all, the mother of her own sisters. And her own sisters! Dead!

Getting up, Sarella began to pace on the dais with her hands against her stomach. They wouldn’t even be able to bury her sisters. And now that Arianne was coming to claim her throne half their family was…gone. Erased from existence. Tears started to form at the centre of her eyes and she wiped hastily at them with the back of her hand, smearing them but not getting rid of them entirely. Arianne would know soon. Everyone in Dorne would know soon. Until the rightful Martell ruler got here, Sarella would have to be the stoic leader. A pillar of grief and strength. She had to be that now, before the word spread among Sunspear. People would be coming for audiences soon and nobody could suspect anything yet. Curling her fingers together against her chin and summoning up all the dignity, courage and inscrutability she could muster as a ruler of Dorne, Sarella forced herself to sit back down on the audience throne and jammed her fingers under her to avoid any signs of distress and then sat back. As the throne room door opened, she sat up and the face fell back on. 

She spent the rest of the day frantically trying to pretend that everything was running as smoothly as normal. She saw petitioners and members of the public, received a visit from various guild leaders and sat at the usual small council session. She oversaw the budgets for the next month and organised new activities for the children at the Water Gardens as well as checking that the gardens were well-stocked with fresh water and reviewed the water containment levels. Discussed the need for more fruit tree planting with the head gardener and voiced concerns about grain production, as well as olive tree tending. She kept going throughout the day until the sun started to show signs of dipping and excused herself. 

Waving her maids away as she entered her sleeping quarters, Sarella closed not just the room curtains but the main door as well and locked it behind her. Listening to make sure nobody was snooping around outside, she waited for a few more minutes and then let the mask of reserve drop and her real emotions come spilling out. Throwing herself onto her bed, she buried her face into her pillows and began to scream. She wailed and cried as her fingers crushed the material in her tight grip. Tears soaked the fabric as the images of her sisters dying, in pain, ran through her head over and over. The image of Obara, blood gushing from her mouth; Nymeria, hanging from her weapon above the water; Tyene, captured and taken. Letting go of the bed sheets, she slammed her curled fists against the soft silks as she pressed her face into the pillows so nobody could hear, the silk coverings a sodden mess. Choking from the tears, she curled up finally and brought her body into the fetal position. Sniffing as her breath hitched in the back of her throat, she lay with her eyes closed.

She had told herself that they would be fine, that everything would be fine. She was so stupid! How could she have let herself believe that?! 

Sobbing again, she curled up tighter. Her family was dead! Gone, forever lost! But her other sisters were not and they hadn’t been told yet. How could you tell children like Dorea and Loreza that your mother you love and your older sisters you worship were dead? Rubbing her eyes, Sarella dragged herself up into a sitting position and forced herself to get up off the wet bed and out the door. It took every effort to place one foot in front of each other but somehow she managed to make her way to where her sisters were. Sitting between them as they continued to eat the evening meal, she watched them tease and provoke each other but couldn’t bring herself to smile or even pick at the food. 

“Sarella,” Dorea asked as she shared a blood orange with Loreza, “Have you heard news about the fleet?”

Sarella looked down at her and tried her best to smile. “Since when are my two smallest sisters interested in the Dornish Fleet?” she teased. “I thought you wanted to know more stories from Oldtown books instead.”

“No but I miss Mama and I want to know. Please please, Sarella? Please tell us?”

Giving a deep sigh, she swept over each of them. Sensitive Obella, pretty Dorea, stubborn Elia, sweet Loreza. How could she tell them? Staying silent for a long time, she finally answered. “No I haven’t heard anything yet,” she lied. “I am sure, my sweet little Snakes, that soon we will hear all the news. Now, I hear that Dorea can fit a whole orange in her mouth through the grapevine. I don’t half believe my cute, innocent little sister could possibly fit a whole, uncut one in…could she?”

Praying the distraction had worked, she spent the rest of the evening just breathing in her family down to her very soul. When sleep began to overtake the three youngest, she rose and kissed their foreheads and patted their hair then swept out of the dining area and back down the halls. Walking slowly, she only realized Elia was with her when she turned and saw her stubbornly set face behind her. 

“What really happened, Sarella?” Elia asked, both arms crossed.

Sarella sighed deeply. “I told you exactly what happened, Elia.”

“That lie fools babies but I’m not a baby.”

Rubbing her temples, Sarella looked right and left before dragging Elia into a nearby empty room and closing the door behind them. Pacing back and forth, she wrung her fingers tightly then turned swiftly on the spot. Dust scattered under her feet as she fixed Elia with a look of utmost firmness.

“You cannot tell anyone. Do you understand?” she hissed. “Not a word to anyone. Not to the servants, the ministers and especially never to our little sisters. You must swear to me, Elia. On the bloodlines of Nymeros Martel and our blood. On fathers blood and aunt Elia’s blood. Swear on Mother Rhoyne herself.”  
Elia swallowed and then jutted out her chin. “I swear. Now tell me.”

Leaning against a piece of furniture, Sarella bent her head and ran her fingers through her scalp slowly. “Some men from the Dornish Fleet were found floating off the coast a few days ago. When they woke up, they told their rescuers that our Navy was destroyed. Nearly everyone on those boats are dead. Our…our sisters…they went to be with Father and Aunt Elia.”

She barely repressed a sob but continued on. “Nymeria and Obara are dead and Tyene and your mother…they said that they were captured and taken away to Kings Landing. They said that Cersei Lannister wants them dead because of what happened to Myrcella when she was living here. That’s all I know, Elia. I promise.”

Elia began to cry and Sarella strode over to wrap her in her powerful arms. Stroking the long black hair that she was so proud of, they cried together until the tears dried up and then they let go. Bending her head down, Sarella wiped the tears off her cheeks and then pressed their foreheads together.

“Not a word to our little sisters, remember. This is Dorne, Elia. Your mother did things that I despised but she was fathers true love and I will honour her as one of our own. We will get her and Tyene back or we will get their bones back and bury them with Father in our crypts. Blood runs deep here and we will not let those Westerosi murderers take any of our family away any more. Dorne remembers, Elia. We remember. We will never be bowed, bent or broken. And we will destroy our enemies so they will remember that we are of Mother Rhoyne and Mother Rhoyne avenges what is lost with blood and fury and rage. We are all we have now.”

Nodding, the older sister guided them both out. Walking her to her rooms where Elia was taken in and fussed over by her nurse, Sarella stood on the highest part of the palace gardens and watched the city below and then cast her face out over the wide water ahead until she studied the moon itself. Too wiped to cry again, she rested her hands on the railing and stared out numbly.

“Unbowed. Unbent. Unbroken,” she whispered. Breathing out, she watched the moon progress until eventually the dawn started to break over the sky. Turning away, she traced her steps back to her apartment where she sank down into a deep and too short sleep. As she slept, the faces of those she'd lost danced across her vision.


End file.
